


Not One Syllable of Truth

by minthepsychic



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Gen, community theater, misuse of Sheridan, there will be melodrama here, victorian explorers engaging in shipboard entertainments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minthepsychic/pseuds/minthepsychic
Summary: For the terror_exe flash fest; John Irving eavesdrops on a production meeting for an original theatrical work.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	Not One Syllable of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: *ASMR* john bridgens proposes to james fitzjames on HMS Terror - kissing sounds, teeth chattering, John Irving is watching you  
> https://twitter.com/terror_exe/status/1258655950921236485  
> Title from Sheridan's The School for Scandal, as are the names Tattle and Drowsy (Crozier reportedly performed in Sheridan's The Rivals while Fury and Hecla were iced in at Winter Island in 1821).

"In the 'I love you most ardently' vein, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Bridgens, I think that will do nicely."

Lieutenant John Irving tucked his still-mittened hands into his armpits and waited for them to stop tingling. His teeth were still chattering, and he was just starting to get feeling back in his nose. The frost of his breath that had accumulated on his eyelashes was melting, sending drips of water down his face, but he didn't want to take his hands out of his gloves to wipe them away. He stood and waited for the feeling to come back into his feet - it was easier here in the companionway, rather than stumping back to his cabin. There were men at their dinner forward, a low soft sound of spoons and forks and happy talk.

The comparatively clearer voice of steward John Bridgens came from aft, beyond the wardroom door. It was in a much bolder tone than his usual. "Mrs. Tattle, you are not the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance. And undeniably I have met far better dancers - why, since we have met you have trod on my feet no less than six times, madam."

"Oh, that is good," said Commander Fitzjames, HMS Erebus.

"Your accomplishments are few, though I do say you write a lovely parcel of prose."

"A bit of metatextuality is always good for a chuckle, yes."

"Your family - why there is none of it to speak of."

"Not after the horrible train accident!" There was an over-the-top sigh following this statement. Lieutenant Irving suspected the back of Fitzjames's hand was firmly pressed to his forehead. He shifted his own hands more firmly into his armpits as they started to warm up.

"So I cannot say whether they might be tolerable or untolerable, madam. But I find I love you, against my better judgment, and would hope that you might do me the great honor of becoming my wife."

"Very good, Mr. Bridgens. Now, for Mrs. Tattle." And the pitch of Commander Fitzjames's voice went up an octave, and took on a shrewish timbre and a volume that defied any taming. "Mr. Drowsy! You have insulted me as much as any ten men might! You say I trod on your foot six times, Sir? - I say you forgot the steps six times! I must say I do write lovely prose. You are correct in that particular, sir." Fitzjames honored them with a ridiculous titter of a laugh. "As for family - why sir, as a bosom friend of your late wife -" The pitch reverted. "Oh, I don't think I can say that." Papers were shuffled, and a manly snigger was released. The put-on voice returned. "As for family - how dare you mock my recent loss, sir! I am yet in mourning, sir! My late husband, wealthy railway magnate Tom Tattle, taught me to expect a better sort of wooing, Mr. Drowsy. No, sir, I will not marry you! Not if you were the last man in England!" Lieutenant Irving was not looking forward to the amount of shrieking on the night. Fitzjames's voice returned. "Well, hopefully there's some black fabric in the pile. And I think we should put some of this exposition in an earlier scene."

"If I may, sir, it's that sort of exposition that puts us firmly in the realm of melodrama. And we do attempt melodrama."

"You're right, of course, Mr. Bridgens. I'm glad you volunteered yourself. You used to _manage_? Was that the word you used?"

"Yes, sir, stage managed."

"Delightful! You will have to show me Drury Lane _from the wings_ , as it were."

There were more papers shuffled, and some contemplative noises. The numbness in John Irving's feet was starting to turn into pinpricks of icy pain, but all the ice had melted from his eyelashes and his hair and evaporated into the warm dry air of belowdecks. He wasn't used to being on a ship and feeling dry. On previous voyages, it had always been damp enough in his cabin for his books to warp, but here it was cold enough outside that even the air inside couldn't hold any moisture. He'd learned to rub grease into his hands every day so they wouldn't start to crack, as they had the winter before.

A door opened on the aft side of the ship. A new voice. "Must you be so cruel to poor Mr. Drowsy, Mrs. Tattle?" Captain Francis Crozier asked.

"Francis! I was just going to go and fetch you. I think you'll find that he was cruel first. And he just wants her for her husband's fortune of course."

"She definitely can't be the dead wife's friend if she's rich."

There was an awkward pause Irving could feel even through the door. He pulled his mittens off and flexed his fingers. His toes still ached.

"Ah, yes." A beat of silence. "Well, in any case, she's running off with a marine at the end of the show, she can't marry Mr. Drowsy."

"Can't she?"

"Oh, I see! That's perfect." Pages were shuffled. "And then, rather than letting the old fool down immediately, pardon me Mr. Bridgens, she can break his heart even more later! That is a good suggestion, Francis." And the horrible breathy voice was back. "Mr. Drowsy, yes, of course I will marry you! I have missed the married state horribly, sir!" It was gone again. "Is that too much?"

"I do not see how Sir John can reasonably object, sir, as the joke is an indirect one." This from Mr. Bridgens.

"Does your Mrs. Tattle exist solely for salacity, Commander Fitzjames?" Crozier asked.

"Yes, Captain Crozier, and as a contrast to Lieutenant Fairholme's innocent young heroine."

"Mr. Drowsy's daughter?"

"Naturally," Fitzjames replied. "Lieutenants Little and Hodgson for her suitors. I asked Graham to play the loyal beau, but he said he fainted the last time he stood before an audience. We may have put too much on Lieutenant Little's shoulders for a first attempt at theater."

"With rehearsal, sir, I think he will be quite convincing," Bridgens replied.

"If he doesn't faint as well, or remove someone's finger during the duel," said Crozier. "Edward and Hodgeson nearly eviscerated my steward practicing the choreography."

John Irving started unbuttoning his overcoat, and then set into removing his over-trousers and heavy outdoor boots.

"Do you think ..." Fitzjames trailed off.

"Do I think what, Fitzjames?"

"Do you think, as director of the production, Francis, and as a friend of Sir John's, well ..." Another pause. "Do you think it would be too much, and if they could even be induced to, that is ..."

"Be plain, sir."

And then Lieutenant Irving heard a noise that belonged on a seat of ease - a terrible wet squelching noise. It repeated a few times.

Crozier was becoming a little blustery, though it was not the full gale of captainly rage. "Do you think I could convince Edward and Fairholme to kiss? And Sir John to accept it as a theatrical element?" A thinking pause, and he calmed slightly. "No, no, I do not think it would do. If you intend for them to be the serious couple of the piece, I think kissing is out of the question. However, gentlemen, I think that some well-planned kissing of Mrs. Tattle's hands would add some amusement. Do you find yourself up to the task, Mr. Bridgens?"

"Anything for the show, sir."

"Good chap, Bridgens," cut in Fitzjames. "I think we have the thing well in hand, Francis. We will only make fools of ourselves by intention."

John Irving's sojourn in the slop room was broken by the ringing of Terror's bell, and the loud stamp of feet from above and below and aft and forward all at once - the men who had just finished dinner moved to other work, the men on watch went up or down to dinner. The wardroom door opened.

Fitzjames leaned out of it, saw Irving, and grinned. "Lieutenant, excellent, come in and we can discuss music."

John Irving went.

**Author's Note:**

> I suddenly remembered that "we'll have no melodramas here" is a line from the show AFTER writing the entire fic :|  
> My post-book-reading headcanon is that Bridgens has worked in a theater, maybe someday I'll finish writing the story in which Peglar gets the backstage tour.  
> I had "I love you, most ardently" on the brain because of attheborder's on the very verge (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25796071/chapters/62657506).  
> Unbeta'd; this is my second piece of publicly posted fanfiction after having lurked in fandom for nearly 20 years (!) but I am trying to teach myself to be bold :)


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